Pokémon XY - Adventures in a Screwed Up Land
by Spyromaster64
Summary: Arkus Eon is a Trainer with the goal of tourist - just do some sightseeing. His one tip for adventuring around Kalos is 'always carry a firearm' and his only New Year's Resolution for 2014 is 'stop giving Sycamore crayons'. This is the tale of his adventure, along with all of it's questionably insane mishaps. Rated T for violence, politically incorrect adult humour and 'swearing'.
1. Chapter One

_Author's Note_

_This is not meant to be serious in any way whatsoever. Please understand that this story is not actually supposed to make much sense, and that I was very, very bored in the IT lesson at school when I wrote this._

_There will be a very serious and dark Pokémon fanfiction with my own interpretation of the Mystery Dungeon universe being worked on soon._

_- Spyromaster64_

I was once told that Kalos was the most beautiful region in the Tiamean Isles. It's forests and streams entirely clean of any pollution, it's wildlife larger than life and more varied that Hoenn or Kanto – and yet the only thing I've proven to myself to be correct so far is that tourists will often need to carry a firearm at all times.

The date was November the 14th 2013. I, Arkus Eon, was taking a fairly relaxed stroll through Route 15, located just on the eastern edge of central Kalos. The sun was, contrary to popular belief, not shining – in fact, it was my fault that I wasn't. I had ordered one of my Pokémon to use Rain Dance in a recent battle and the effects hadn't quite worn off, yet. Looking down at the Pokéball which contained the Absol responsible, I pondered how many Trainers on this path were now going to die from hypothermia.

I just patted the ball in ignorance, before jumping onto a bike that some kid had left unattended for a few seconds and was now, like, totally mine. Riding away, I "accidently" ran over some small children before jumping off again and hoofing it into Lumiose City, the drug/warlord central of the Kalos region. Fecking drug/warlords.

As I headed off to the Poképhiliac Brothel/Pokémon Centre, I passed a man, seemingly distressed, who muttered in fatigue,

"These narrow alleyways… they reek of danger…" I laughed and threw rocks at him because he wasn't normal.

On my first visit to the city a few months before, I couldn't help but notice the huge abundance of cafés in the city, thus I came to the conclusion that everyone here was a fecking caffeine addict that would instantaneously combust if they did not have their fix within every five minutes. I found this to be amusingly true as the brothel Pokémon Centre stank of burning flesh and was also the only place in the city lacking a distinct coffee aroma. Either than or Nurse Joy has been practising "medicine" again.

"Oi, whore!" I shouted. Nurse Joy turned to me and smiled.

"Hello, there! Welcome to the feckhouse." She paused for a moment, a blank expression on her features. "Oops, wait, I forgot I'm not meant to say that anymore. Welcome to the 'Pokémon Centre'" She even used the hand gestures and everything. "Would you like us to resurrect your dead mates?" I nodded. "Then please pay the one-time annual subscription one-off daily fee of 9999999 PokéDollars." I handed her ten Kenyan shillings that I had found on the floor. "Thank you!" She gave a disgustingly toothy smile, black, missing and rotten teeth showing. "I will get to work immediately. Chansey!"

A large, severely obese pink mass hastily waddled into the room, squealing in response. It got about two feet from the door and collapsed in intense fatigue. "Chansey, you little gobshite, do be a dear and "heal" this little fecker." She threw all of my Pokéballs at it, most of which bounced off. It struggled for a moment, but managed to sort of use it's own weight to topple back up onto it's feet.

"Chanseh!" it squeaked, saluting, which threw it off balance again.

"Good. I'm going back to Battlefield 4." 'Nurse' Joy walked off, kicking Chansey in the woman bollocks as she went.

"Good to know my friends are in professional hands!" I said to myself confidently. "Better go and mug Professor Sycamore for more Pokémon to sell on the Black Market – whoops, I meant Wonder Trade."

I left the centre with only Hannah, who looked like she really badly needed to shit out the sky trainer from two days ago.

"Actually, feck the Professor," I muttered loudly in front of a toddler and his mother. "Hannah, let's go to some posh gig with food." Hannah normally likes that sort of thing, and probably would now, if she didn't need a crap so badly. I approached a cab driver.

"How much for a ride down the road?"

"For you, good Sir, only 80000 PokéDollars!" My eyes widened. That was a hell of a lot of money to drive twenty metres.

"Seriously?" I spluttered. "Couldn't you just drop the cost a little bit?"

"Nope! I'm sorry, company policy to overcharge on all fees!" The cabbie grinned.

"Right, listen you feckin' little shit," I growled, pulling my M1911 on him. "You're going to drive me the 20 metres down this FECKING road or so help me, I will obliterate your feckin' head. I could have walked the bloody way already."

The cabbie smiled and grabbed my gun.

"Oh, but you MUST take a ride." He began to laugh evilly. I pulled it away from him in frustration as his watched bleeped. His eyes widened in horror. "Oh, shi-" At that moment, he spontaneously combusted into an impressive burning, writhing mass. Ignoring his frantic screaming, I grabbed him by the neck, my hand somehow not burning, and dragged him out of the taxi onto the floor. I replaced his post in the vehicle and started the car with the keys he had left in the ignition.

"To be fair mate, you didn't even need this anyway, did you?" Hannah hopped on top of the vehicle, pushing it's suspension dangerously low down as I pulled away from the sidewalk. Nobody seemed to give a shit that a cabbie had just been both carjacked and combusted, and left him on the floor, screeching.

Casually, I cruised around the city a bit, occasionally drifting onto the sidewalk for some bonus points before eventually going to where I actually wanted to go, which was some two star restaurant. Hannah jumped off the vehicle, causing a small earthquake and catapulting a toddler into the sky. We stood there for five minutes trying to figure out how to lock our new ride, and I didn't see him come down.

Despite being a laughable two star joint, the place actually looked fairly well composed. I noticed a man at the desk, who stared at me intently, picking his nose with a fork. I left Hannah to answer nature's call on a blind man's plate while I talked to the grotesque man at the counter.

"Excuse me," I spoke politely, "How much do you ask for a three-course meal?" The man, who was dressed in sharp, clean tuxedo, shot me a glare that I almost took for offence.

"Well, we is offerin' the big one for, like, 15,000 PokéQuid, innit?" he answered, gesturing wildly to a menu behind him. "You is wanting the triple or the rotating-thing shit, is I right?" I stood there for a moment as my brain processed whatever the Hell he had said. Eventually, I managed to decode his cryptic language, and responded,

"Wait, battles? I came here for food. This _is_ a restaurant, right?"

"Yeah, blad, innit?" murmured the man, dribbling. "Is you like, well dining posh, or is you a pukka skank who is gonna go nab me some well-dissin' KFC?" I couldn't be bothered to try and understand it this time, so I just gave him 15,000 PokéDollars and told him to "surprise me".

Hannah was already sitting at a table, looking surprisingly refreshed. I took a seat, and a waiter almost seemed to appear from nowhere immediately.

"How are you today, Sir?" he spoke.

"I'm good, tha-"

"Now, the starter today is squished berry on a plate." He had a thick French accent that was considerably less difficult to understand than the chav at the counter. "'Ere is your starter." He dropped the plate onto the table, causing it to smash.

Not really caring, I picked up my knife and fork. The waiter's eyes widened. "No, no, good Sir, you must let it cool!" I gave him a confused look.

"But it's uncooked."

"JUST BATTLE ME, BITCH!"

"Listen, I don't want to battle," I told the waiter, somewhat confused. "Can't you just let me eat?"

"B-but Sir," he spluttered, looking as if he was about to burst into tears. "You're the Champion… We must battle!"

"No," I responded coldly. "Go away." The waiter slumped away, whimpering pathetically. I looked up at Hannah, who was already happily eating the berry paté without restraint.

We left, filled with somewhat mediocre food, and made our way through the North Boulevard. Hannah happily bounded along, giving smiles to the passing residents of Lumiose City as she occasionally stepped on toddlers who hadn't gotten out of the way fast enough.

"LOL!" screeched some anorexic teenager from the sidewalk. We ignored her, making our way over to the Sycamore Pokémon Lab.

"Hey, Professor?" I called, opening the door. "You in here?" There was a muffled crazed laughing from upstairs. "Professor?!" A door up the stairs exploded into wooden shards as Professor Sycamore barrelled out, laughing maniacally.

"HELLOYESYESYESHELLOAREYOUDEARLITTLEDADDY?!" he shrieked. Hannah looked at me worriedly.

"Yeah," I said to her, sighing. "He's been smoking Crayons again."

"WHYHALLOMYDEARLITTLEBOYNYAHAHAHAHAHA" he continued in a loud, shrill voice. "DIDYOUSWANTMYPOKEMONWELLNOUFAGGOTUCANSSNNOTTHAFFDEM?!"

"Professor," I muttered sternly, "Come down here and talk to me."

"NO!" he whined. "ILIKEITUPHERE!" I pulled out my M1911 again.

"Professor. Now." He vaulted over the handrail, performed a graceful somersault in the air and promptly landed on his head, inducing so much pressure on his neck and spine that a fairly audible _snap_ could be heard – he appeared fine, however.

"OHUPOORCHILD," he screamed. I nodded at Hannah, who returned the gesture, walking over to the Professor and turning him up the right way. She placed him gently on the floor, where he automatically crossed his legs and began humming unnervingly.

"Okay Professor, I'm here for a simple questi-"

"OOH!" he squealed suddenly in apparent excitement. He shoved his hand into his lab coat pocket before withdrawing what looked like very badly made LSD pills. "IS IT THE RED ONE OR THE BLUE ONE?!" I sighed. At least his speech was eventually becoming slower.

"No, Professor," I muttered, moving his outstretched offering of illegal drugs out of the way. "I need to know if Pokébank is out yet."

"WHY, YES! YES, YES, YES, OH GOD, YES!" the Professor shouted. I was becoming afraid of the health of my eardrums at this point.

"Well, okay, do you mind if I use the lab's GTS machine?"

"HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM," he droned for a while, seemingly in deep thought – it was fairly obvious he wasn't, though. Professor Sycamore isn't really capable of anything beyond counting to four. "IT IS DEPENDINGS ON WHAT YOU IS WANTINGS."

"Well, actually, I was thinking of a Snivy," I told him. "Or anything along that evolutionary chain." Sycamore seemed Hell-bent on glaring at my private area as he continued humming, occasionally making intermittent 'pip' sounds with his lips.

"Weeeell…" he sighed, his voice now noticeably quieter. "I don't knoooow… what will you pay me…?"

"I'll give you 20 more crayons," – his eyes lit up – "_on the condition_ that you don't _use_ them until I'm gone."

"Done! Done deal! Fabulous!" he sang delightedly. I never quite understood the Kalosian obsession with the word 'fabulous'. I could easily title it as disturbing.

"Alright, here's the crayons," I spoke, handing him a box of Crayola rainbow crayons – his favourite. "Try to remember our terms, will you? I don't want to have to use this on you on the way out." I beckoned to my M1911, which I had just holstered. When you were travelling in a land as completely screwed up as Kalos, you needed some form of firearm protection.

I myself was from Britain, but had always had Pokémon since I was young. I had received Hannah as a Goomy when I was just three, and the pair of us were inseparable since. I had already toured Kanto, Johto, Hoenn and Sinnoh – and after Kalos I planned on catching a ferry to Unova.

I wasn't focused on Gym Badges, either. I mean, not everyone can 'be the very best' now, can they? So I just, well, toured, as aforementioned. Saw the sights. Watched the wildlife. Shot the local criminal gang members. In the balls.

"Okey-dokey, you mother goose!" the Professor laughed worryingly, waving at me as I went upstairs, looking as if he was dangerous detached from reality.

I entered a room filled with ominous machinery, phials filled to their brims with elusive fluids, Bunsen burners and shelves upon shelves of nothing but Chimchar skeletons. Don't worry, nobody's quite sure about that last one.

In the centre of this room was a large terminal constructed from a simple 14" touchscreen and no end of complex mechanics connected to various bits and bobs here and there.

Almost as soon as I approached the touchscreen, the terminal recognised my presence and promptly greeted me with a wonderful message.

_FUK OF HOOMAN_

I think it's safe to say that Professor Sycamore never really achieved admirable results in his English exams.

Nonetheless, I placed an intrepid hand on the screen – half-expecting some electric voltage in excess of 450V to course through my body, knowing the Professor's level of homicidal intent – and brought up a questionably explicit login screen, bordered with all sorts of horrific Poképhilia images, all starring our good friend Professor Sycamore. Ignoring the Professor's frankly sickening attempt at homescreen decoration, I managed to log into the system fairly quickly using my Trainer ID and fingerprint, accessing the latest version of the Global Trade Station network.

I was brought to a screen which asked me to type in the name of the Pokémon I was looking for, where I simply wrote 'Snivy' into the textbox. To my fair surprise, I was almost immediately greeted with over twenty offers from Trainers who simply did not want their poor little Snivy anymore.

Regulations had previously been in place to prevent most Pokémon from others regions – most notably starters – from being taken into Kalos, mostly to prevent the accidental spread of foreign disease and to prevent crossbreeding. However, this didn't prevent the Professor from smuggling possibly hundreds of Bulbasaur, Charmander and Squirtle stolen from Professor Oak's laboratory into Kalos from his little holiday in Kanto before handing them out to many a Trainer who paid him a visit, including myself.

Ergo, this regulation also covered Unova starter Pokémon – any of the species that Professor Juniper offers to new Trainers – including Snivy. However, the International Association of Pokémon Abroad and Perspiration Anger (IAPAPA) recently passed a new law to the Kalosian government, who – after some convincing – accepted. The law is… well, it's name is long and very, very complicated, so us Trainers just call it 'Pokémon Bank'. It more or less permits cross-regional trades on the GTS of Pokémon into Kalos.

Now the system would accept offers of foreign Pokémon. However, what was immediately noticeable was the wanted Pokémon in return for each Snivy. Because nobody in Kalos legally had a Snivy with them at the time, asking for something powerful in return was probably to be expected - but when you're looking at the offers of twenty or so Trainers and most of which are demanding Pokémon such as 'Level 100 Arceus with 31/IV Spread, need a shiny for masturbation reasons' for a young Snivy that was probably hatched only two minutes or so ago, things can feel a little hopeless.

I browsed through them, my heart steadily drooping in my chest as each new hope was mercilessly crushed under the weight of progressively more and more ridiculously powerful legendary Pokémon in return. Some people are just desperate, I guess.

I was almost ready to give up on the matter and leave it until another time, but considering I had just gave up 20 crayons to a complete nutjob for this privilege, I eventually decided on one offer that I knew I could complete, however dearly it would cost me.

I needed to capture a Zapdos.


	2. Chapter Two

"So, you're telling me that you have travelled across the world, attacked three of our Miltank and attempted to sleep with my wife to learn about our tracking skills?" I tried to nod, but that tends to be difficult when the hand of a very muscular tribal soldier is grasped around the back of your neck, forcing you to remain on your knees.

I was in a large, native hut, surrounded by San bushmen, sometimes known as Basarwa. I didn't actually plan on entering the camp in the middle of the night and saying 'hello' in the way I did, but at least I was in.

I had caught a plane from Kalos vover to a South African airport, where my booked guide, Vanhali, drove me to the outskirts of the nearest San bushmen village – all in the space of a day.

"That could technically be considered correct, your Highness," I practically choked due to the force on my windpipe.

"_Your Highness_? You mistake for loyalty," spoke the shaman, who sat atop a very tall chair. "But I nonetheless hold your life within my power right now. Tell me, outsider, why do you need to see our ability?"

"Because," I growled impatiently, "there's some very spoilt sods on the GTS right now who will only give me my favourite Pokémon in exchange for something very, very rare – something that I need to stalk." The shaman sighed.

"You are another Roamer-hunter, aren't you?"

"Yes," I admitted, "but this one is a Zapdos. I don't want to have to encounter it 11 times-"

"Just take this and go," the shaman muttered, throwing what appeared to be a blowpipe at me. "Go."

"W-what…?" I spluttered. "No lecture? No awesome training montage? No conflicted father-mentor scene? No final showdown…?" The shaman looked up at the warrior who had me held. He spoke briefly in his native dialect, before the warrior nodded, and pulled me to my feet.

"You speak too much, Roamer-hunter. We have no further words for you," the shaman called as I was escorted from the village.

"Okay, Arkus," I whispered to myself. "Keep calm. You can do this."

"What's the funny man doing, Mommy?" laughed a child walking along Route 7 with his mother. "Why's he hiding in the grass?" His mother quickened her pace, hastily ushering her child away from the tall grass where I was hiding in wait. I probably looked a bit stupid in my old Air Cadet 'Greens' or 'combats' uniform, which sported a DPM (Disruptive Pattern Material) camouflage appearance. Whilst the uniform was a perfect fit when I was 15, I'm not entirely sure it was a good idea for a 23 year-old to be wearing that particular set, what with the exposed ankles and lower arms. Even worse, I had no DPM-pattern bush hat or Mk. 7 helmet to go with it, so I just resorted to using my Air Force blue beret, complete with it's shining, position-revealing ATC cap badge. Top that with the fact that my combat boots were too small so I had to resort to my brown hiking boots, I probably looked like some psychopathic paedophile just waiting to invite some passing children into my 'chocolate factory'.

I eyed the Pokédex I had taken from some ten year-old in a blue jacket I mugged on Route 2, with Zapdos' entry open. I had never quite figured out how to work the thing, so getting to the 'Location' page without triggering the voice functions was proving quite the challenge.

"A LEGENDARY POKÉMON THAT IS SAID TO-" I cast the device into the nearby river in frustration. There was no way I was going to get close enough to shoot it with a blowpipe dart if that thing was nattering away.

I sat there for what felt like hours. In reality, it was about thirty seconds, but the feeling was of hours, nonetheless. I sat there and waited. I wanted to read a paper, play with apps on my Pokétech, try out the blowpipe on innocent civilians – just anything, really. I never really was any good with waiting.

But I knew it would pay off. Once that thirty seconds was up, lo and beyond, a huge Zapdos just happened to blunder into a patch of tall grass about ten metres away from me. Perfect.

Remembering my fieldcraft training from my Air Cadet days, I used a leopard crawl to move myself closer to the edge of my patch of grass, before bringing myself to one knee and drawing my binoculars.

Through the dirty, abused lenses, I could just make out the badly-camouflaged Zapdos head as it pecked at some Caterpie. Blood flew everywhere and I could hear them squealing in agony as the huge bird happily munched on their souls. I placed down the binoculars and slowly drew the blowpipe. Luckily for me, the Zapdos was blissfully unaware of my presence.

Ensuring the dart was placed in the right way, I brought one end up to my mouth, drew a deep but controlled breath, and—

_RING-DING-A-LING MOTHER FECKER_

The Zapdos immediately straightened up and looked around in evident surprise. It scanned it's surroundings in defensive panic at a lightning pace. I blew hard in my own shock and ended up missing completely – the dart instead hit the Day-Care man, who almost instantly collapsed into a crumpled heap, fast asleep.

"FECK!" I shouted loudly, standing up and drawing my M1911. The Zapdos spotted me and made a break for it, leaving a dusty cloud with it's take off. I began to fire the pistol wildly, the 9mm rounds failing to make contact over and over – until finally, I could've sworn I heard the sound of a bullet making contact with flesh.

An ear-splitting screech filled the sky as the majestic bird came tumbling down on top of the Dare-Care before rolling off the roof and landing in front of me in pain.

My God-awful ringtone was still sounding. I grabbed my Pokégear from my pocket and answered it.

"WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!" I screamed in rage.

"Oh, hi Arkus, it's Joey!" came a voice from the speaker. I wanted to kill myself for giving him my number. "My Ratatta is sooooo cool! Okay, bye!" He hung up. Giving a sigh, I went over to Zapdos to check the poor sod's vitals.

"Sorry about, you know, shooting you, mate…" I apologised. I never liked seeing Pokémon in pain, but if anybody should be blamed, it should be Joey.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed I had only hit it's leg. Taking out my knife and first aid kit, I removed the bullet and bandaged the wound to stop the flow of blood. It began shivering, signifying that it was going into shock. "Alright Zapdos, I'm going to take you to a Pokémon Centre," I remarked, pulling out one of the 999 Master Balls I had taken as a battle prize from a cross-dressing boy who called himself 'Action(Replay) Man'. Zapdos looked at me in panic. "It's okay," I said soothingly, stroking it's head softly. "It's for a good cause…" I gently tapped the Master Ball onto it's wing, which absorbed it in a matter of seconds. Just to be sure, I hurriedly grabbed some duct tape and completely enveloped the Ball's seal with it. After the Ball stopped shaking, I stood up, triumphant.

"I just caught… GTS CURRENCY!" I shouted to the sky in my victory, holding up the duct-taped Master Ball. It was only then I noticed that the boy was still there.

"I wanna be just like him, Mommy!" he said excitedly, drooling. He was completely oblivious to the fact that I had accidently shot his mother, who was lying next to him.

"That's a good goal, little… boy." I said, walking over and ruffling his hair. I had a mental block on an insult that I could use that he wouldn't understand. I began to jog to the Pokémon Centre in Camphrier Town. "Sorry, ma'am," I spoke innocently, tipping my hat to the bleeding women as I left.

"Welcome to the Pokéman Cent'urr,"grumbled Nurse(?) Joy, this one of which may not have actually been a woman. "Would yeh loik meh to 'eal yer Pokéman?" I handed her(?) the barely recognisable Master Ball.

"Just the one, please." Joy eyed me for a moment.

"Yer shot ano'er one again, di'nt yer, Eon?" I looked around sheepishly as several fellow visitors to the Centre looked at me in alarm.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," I told her – or him – hoping that he would get the message that I would not like the existence my weapon to become public knowledge. "I'm going to get changed. Is the facility free this time?"

"Nope," Joy grunted, "it's still full of hot naked women."

"Great!" I clasped my hands together in excitement, rubbing them. "I'll just take my clothes back, then."

"Oi gave 'em teh that man o'er there," said Joy. "It's 'im yer be lookin' fer." I gave him a disapproving glare.

"What did you do that, for?"

"'e promised me 'e'd let meh family live."

"Oh."

"HAHAHAHAOHHELLOAGAINARKUSISUHEREFORTHEGTSSSXXX?!" screeched a once-again demented Professor Sycamore as I stormed into his lab. "IJUSTFINISHEDMYLATESTSTUDYONFOREPLAYWITHANOCTOWL-"

"Professor," I interrupted him, turning around as I reached the top of the stairs to face him. "Funnily enough, I don't actually care right now. I've got to get to the GTS machine before the amnesia drug wears off and Zapdos here," – I tapped the Master Ball on my belt, still covered in duct tape – "realises that I didn't really catch him properly. Savvy?"

"SAVVYASACARDBOARDUCKLETT," roared the Professor, who was now mindlessly spinning in circles.

I reached the same room, with the same terminal, with – funnily enough – a new login screen. This one featured a somewhat creepy image of the Professor engaging inactivates with a female Ampharos that I was fairly certain were illegal, but I nonetheless logged in. There were now fifty offers, but all were still offering Snivy in exchange for ridiculous exchanges.

I located the Zapdos deal – it was still on. I guess no-one had been stupid enough to go for any of these deals yet, but I caught Zapdos for this reason. I knew I'd never use it on a team, just as I knew that the duct tape was probably never going to come off.

Zapdos would be fine – he was healed, and as a safety precaution, all Pokémon stored in a Pokéball or PC Storage System for one month or more are automatically transported digitally (I don't know how either) to Silph Co., who then manually release the Pokémon even if the Pokéball proves impossible to open by using a data extractor (again, no idea how) and then releasing them.

"Alright, buddy," I sighed, placing his Ball into the hatch and closing it. "See you around."

The system scanned the Master Ball and, for some reason, identified it incorrectly.

_LV. 100 ARCEUS (SHINY)_

This meant it would've allowed me to accept that other deal. But to be fair, I didn't really want to give a Zapdos to a Trainer who behaves like that around Pokémon, so I rescanned it several times, watching the system struggle to suggest anything besides some certainly amusing yet frustrating results.

_LV. 80 ARBOK_

_LV. 99 GIOVANNI_

_LV. 07 MEW_

_LV. 69 MISSINGNO._

_LV. 50 WAILORD (NICK: URMOM) (ITEM: BURN HEAL)_

Finally, the system came around and correctly identified it.

_LV. 70 ZAPDOS_

I proceeded with the trade by tapping 'Accept Offer' whilst viewing the offer asking for Zapdos, and the transfer began.

There was a loud whirring noise as Professor Sycamore's own rendition of a Rube Goldberg machine (this one was admittedly very crudely made) began a twenty-second process of pressing a button on top of the giant machine to confirm the transfer. A ping-pong ball was involved, but it fell out due to the shoddy nature of the machine's construction, so I just asked Aurora, my Talonflame, to sit on the button for a few seconds.

Within moments, the Ball vanished before my eyes inside the translucent hatch, only to be replaced seconds later with a regular Pokéball. I looked up at the screen. I had used proper GTS terminals before, and they usually give you a friendly 'look after your new Pokémon!' message, but Professor Sycamore obviously had other plans for this one.

_ROFL LOL DATS A PRITTEE NIS ASS ON DAT (insert name of your new Pokémon) U GOT THARR BE A SHAYM IF SUMTHING WER TO HAPN TO ITS ASS LOL (MY DIK)_

I shook my head in disappointment at his evident lack of grammar skills before opening up the hatch and removing the little Ball inside. The system had informed me that it was a young male, classified by it's strength as a 'Level 06'. All Pokémon have their strength evaluated by an official system within their Pokéballs that grades them in 'Levels' from one to a hundred.

"Well, little Snivy," I sighed happily. "Guess it's time to meet your new daddy…" I was about to activate the release catch, until I sensed that someone was standing in the doorway. I turned and saw Professor Sycamore, sitting there, doing something frankly inappropriate for public eyes.

"… Professor." I slowly put the Ball into the empty holder on my belt where Zapdos' Master Ball had just been. I didn't want to make first impressions on my new little Snivy with _him_ around.

"U WOT M8," Sycamore said suddenly. "R U HAVING A LITTLE GIGGLE, M8? I'LL BASH YE FOOKIN' HEAD IN I SWEAR ON ME MAM."

"Professor, I need to leave."

"Crayons… THEY RAN OUT…" He shuffled himself nervously into the corner. "Now the shadows… they've come to life… and now… they're going to hurt me…" I backed off slowly. Seeing this, he suddenly made a line for my trouser leg, clawing at it with his long, bony fingers. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND, ARKUS?! THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME!"

"That's great, talk to you soon," I laughed uneasily, kicking him away and quickly leaving the room.

"NO, ARKUS, WAIT! _THEY_ ARE DOWN THERE !" shrieked Professor Sycamore.

"Who, and from what fantasy of yours now?" I shouted back, rolling my eyes as I descended the stairs. "I'll bring you crayons tomorrow, okay?!"

I just about heard him whimper "Okay…" as I hastily left the lab. Now on the roads of Lumiose City once again, I quickly pulled out my notepad and pen.

"Okay, New Year's Resolution for 2014 number one – stop giving Sycamore crayons."


End file.
